


Early Morning Yesterday

by rockstarpeach



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom JDM, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Strangers, Toppy Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockstarpeach/pseuds/rockstarpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff's long, boring bus ride gets a little less boring when an attractive stranger gets on in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Morning Yesterday

It's been a long time since Jeff's been on a bus.

More than a decade, he figures. Not since he celebrated spring break of his senior year at college with two of his buddies and a trip to New Orleans. He bought his Miata six months after he graduated and he's been using it to get around, pretty much exclusively since the day the dealer handed him the keys. It was two years old when he bought it and though he'd kept it in pretty good shape over the years he wasn't even a little bit surprised when the thing finally quit for good, fifty miles outside Pillidelphia

Hence the bus.

It's not as bad as he'd remembered. Even back in his early twenties, when he was young and drunk and stupid he'd found it slightly claustrophobic, felt the uncomfortable jabs of seat springs in places seat springs had no business jabbing. Not unless they bought him a drink, first. He remembers it was cramped, loud, the whole thing smelled like a toilet and the guy behind him kept kicking the back of his seat.

This time the seats really aren't so bad – they're padded well enough and they recline so he can stretch out a little and he'd been careful to choose one all the way in back, sit next to the aisle and put his jacket on the window seat, to discourage anyone from sitting next to him.

It smells mostly like cleaning solution and everyone seems quiet enough. Hell, it even has _Wi Fi_. Should make the eighteen hours between here and Minneapolis just fly by, really.

He could have called to cancel but he's already booked the week off work. Besides, he hasn't seen his sister, his nieces, in far too long.

He's staring out the window somewhere along a quiet stretch of highway when the harsh overhead lights turn off. Outside suddenly becomes clearer, the overpowering light of inside replaced by the soft glow of the aisle potlights and he can see _through_ the window, now rather than just reflection. He can see the empty road and the long, flat piles of black-grey snow, frozen and jagged under the massive streetlights. He can see the soft drift of falling flakes, wide and thick that melt as soon as they hit the ground, mix into the puddles at the feet of their predecessors.

Winter's on the way out, oncoming spring transforming tall snowbanks into wet slush into sheets of ice and back again and he can see the sparkle, the glint off the icicles hanging from the lampposts. 

He drifts for a while and the clock on his phone tells him it's 2:58am when they pull into a bus station in the heart of Columbus. A few of the passengers remain seated – a few were asleep and they stay that way, but most at least glance up as half a dozen people make their way off the bus and two more people get on.

One of them, a girl with a giant backpack and blue streaks in her hair, takes a seat near the front but the other one, a man with light brown hair and jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt under a leather jacket, takes his time. He walks slowly toward the back, checks out every empty seat, the people sitting next to them and he finally stops right next to Jeff, gives him a tired smile.

“You mind?” he asks, gesturing at the empty seat next to the window.

Jeff just blinks. He's young, the man. Twenty-five at the outside, probably younger. Ten years younger than Jeff and he almost looks small, for all he appears to be nearly Jeff's height. He's still filling out, still coming into his body and Jeff's almost sorry he didn't meet this guy five years into the future because he can see already – under the T-shirt as it rides up and his bare arms while he stretches to take his jacket off – that it's a pretty nice body already but it's going to be _amazing_ , one day. His features are still soft but they're hardening, sharp angles of his nose and cheeks and chin smoothing, rounding out, the promise of a face that will one day be chiseled and strong, but is, at current, breathtakingly beautiful.

His voice is low, a little rough and Jeff can't tell if that's just the way he sounds, or if it's because it's three in the morning and he looks like he's been through some shit tonight. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is messy and his pants have black smears of... something all over them. Probably the same stuff that's stuck under his fingernails.

He's ridiculously attractive and Jeff's always had a thing for guys who are a little rough around the edges, aren't afraid to get a little dirty. He's licking his lips before he knows it's happening, shifting in his seat so that his arm is resting over his crotch.

“Hello?” the guy says, sounding almost amused as he waves a hand in front of Jeff's face.

“Huh?” Jeff asks, jerking his head as he blinks up again. “Yeah, shit, sorry. Just... long day, you know?” He smiles and ducks his head, blushes a little and slides over into the empty seat, placing his jacket on his lap as he leaves the aisle seat open. 

“Tell me about it,” the guy says with a sigh, as he practically collapses into the seat. He speaks softly, almost a whisper so he doesn't bother the other passengers, not that they're paying attention. They're either asleep or have their faces stuck to their ipads. “My piece of shit car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Couldn't get any fuckin' cell reception, either. I did what I could...” he pauses to wave his dirty - _grease-stained_ \- hands in front of Jeff's face, “but there's only so much you can do on the side of a dark country road in the middle of the night without any tools. Had to hike ten miles into town to get her towed. Parts won't be in for another three days.”

Jeff nods and offers a commiserating smile.

“Yeah, I'm down one car myself, today. Don't think I could have fixed it though, even if I did have the tools. Or the know-how. Cost more to keep it on the road at this point than to get a new one.” That's what they tell him, anyway. Jeff's never been all that great with cars.

“That's rough,” the guy says. “You goin' far?”

“Minneapolis,” Jeff answers. 

“Shit, twelve hours on a bus? I don't envy you, man.”

“Eighteen,” Jeff corrects. “I'm six hours in, already.”

The guy's eyes widen and he whistles. “What's in Minneapolis that's worth that trip? Big diamond heist? Star Trek convention? Free penis enlargements?”

Jeff laughs, sharp and abrupt and shakes his head.

“You got me,” he jokes. “I'm a jewel-theiving Trekkie, looking to make double digits below the waist. Care to join me?”

“I would,” the guy grins, turning his head and ducking in a little closer. Jeff's breath catches and his dick jumps as the words blow over his ear, “but I left my Spock ears in my car. Besides,” his voice gets even lower and he leans in even closer, mouth nearly pressed to Jeff's hair and Jeff shivers, “I'm already past double digits.”

He sits back, all the way in his own seat now and he smiles as he closes his eyes, tucks his head in like he's ready to get some sleep, like he hasn't just turned Jeff's prick to steel, hasn't got him wondering, vividly picturing just exactly what this guy's got going on below the belt. Jeff's no size queen, not really but there's nothing wrong with a nice, big cock.

He lets his eyes drift down to the guy's middle, lower then, between his slightly spread legs. He can't see anything, the guy's jeans are too loose and he's clearly not hard but Jeff bites his lip anyway, just imagining what's there. The guy might have been exaggerating, probably just making a joke, teasing. Jeff can't be sure, though and his eyes keep going, over the guy's legs and then back up, settle on his face. He looks just as beautiful in profile as he does face on, almost more now that his face is relaxed and smooth, long, pretty lashes fanned out over his cheeks, full pink lips parted slightly as he breathes through them.

Jesus, Jeff kind of wants to kiss him even more than he wants to stick his hand down his pants.

“You're staring again,” the guy says, startling Jeff out of his musings. His eyes are still closed, but he blinks them open slowly and turns to face Jeff again, smiling. “My name's Jensen, by the way. And no, I wasn't exaggerating.”

“Jeff,” Jeff croaks out and okay, seriously. He's a pretty smooth guy, he's an expert flirter and he doesn't fluster easily but this guy, this young, beautiful guy named Jensen on a bus somewhere in Ohio is making him feel silly, stupid and rattled and young himself. “And I hadn't given it much thought.”

Jensen doesn't say anything for a while, until his eyes are closed again and he's slouched down so his knees are almost pressed against the seat in front. Jeff fiddles with his jacket a little, shifts a little more and casually presses down on his erection with his forearm, wills it to subside.

And then, when Jeff has allowed himself to relax slightly, when his own knees part and his eyes slip shut, Jensen says, quietly, around a sly smile, “Liar.”

His hand is off Jeff's leg a second later, before Jeff can think of a convincing denial and Jeff lets out an embarrassing whimper when Jensen squeezes, slides his hand up so his palm is flat against the joint of Jeff's thigh and his fingertips are brushing the outline of Jeff's still very hard cock.

“Tease,” Jeff counters, swirling his hips so Jensen's hand shifts and lands a little further north. Jensen, to his credit, doesn't shy away, just scoots closer and presses his hand down harder, making Jeff groan softly. “Okay, maybe not.”

“Undo your pants,” Jensen says, angling his head to take the skin of Jeff's neck softly between his teeth.

Jeff doesn't, at first. He wants to. He really, really wants to but he's frozen, thrown off his game, unaccustomed to being the pursued, rather than the pursuer.

Jensen gives him a full minute, stops kneading his shaft after about thirty seconds and his hand goes lax when he finally says, “It's okay. Pretty sure I didn't read this wrong, but I shouldn't have pushed. You got someone waiting for you up in Minnesota?”

“No,” Jeff says, immediately. “No, sorry. It's just a little... unexpected. Keep going. Please.”

His own hands fly to his waist, pop the button and slide the zipper down. He lifts his hips enough to shimmy his pants down and Jensen's hand helps to gently ease his aching prick from behind the rough denim. 

And then Jensen's warm, wide hand wraps around Jeff's length and starts, unerringly, to jerk him toward climax.

It's quick, it's efficient but it's not clinical, not at all. Jensen presses against his side, throws his leg over Jeff's and adjusts Jeff's jacket so it's covering them more fully. He bites and licks at the outside of Jeff's ear, down his neck until Jeff's breathing quick and rough.

Jeff tilts his head back, spread his legs as wide as he can, gasps and bucks when Jensen's fingers sink lower, over his balls and curl up behind them and he bites his lip to stifle his cry when Jensen's thumb catches the head of his cock, when his hand clenches harder and pulls faster and Jeff shoots his load all over his own lap.

He breathes, heavy and panting and Jensen is still for a few moments before he peels the coat back, looks down at Jeff's softening cock and starts to laugh. Jeff wants to be offended but he looks ridiculous, just jerked off on a public bus with come all over his stomach and Jensen's hand.

“Sorry,” Jeff offers, clearly not sorry at all.

“Again with the lying,” Jensen says. His hand is still sticky, covered in spunk and curled around Jeff's dick when he leans out into the aisle and forward, taps the woman in front of him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “You got any tissues?”

Jeff's face is hot with a deep blush and he carefully avoids her knowing smirk as she passes a small travel packet back, but Jensen just smiles brightly and winks his thanks.

After they're cleaned up, Jeff motions to the now very prominent bulge in Jensen's pants, silently offering to return the favour but he brushes Jeff off with a smile.

“I'm good. Want to catch a few Z's.”

Jeff's slightly disappointed but he understands. He's exhausted, too. He smiles and doesn't look over when ten minutes later he feels Jensen's fingers curl around his own, take Jeff's hand and hold it over Jeff's open thigh.

They stay that way while they both close their eyes, while they both drift off and the contact only breaks some indeterminate – but too short – time later.

“Pulling into Chicago station,” the driver says, cracked and scratchy over the speaker. “Chicago station.”

“Shit,” Jensen says, startling up and pulling his hand away from Jeff's. He turns to place a quick kiss to Jeff's cheek, offers him a lop-sided smile. “This is me, man.”

Already? Fuck, it's not like Jeff thought they were going to run off and get married or something, but Jensen is beautiful and he's somehow managed to get under Jeff's skin in just a few short hours. Minutes, really – they spent most of the time asleep. He's also funny and sexy as hell and a little mysterious and Jeff was hoping not to have to say goodbye quite so soon.

He blinks.

Jensen's smile widens and he ducks forward again, this time landing the kiss to Jeff's lips. It's their first one, their last one. It's soft and easy, mouths pliant and gentle and sliding over and under and between, ends with Jensen's tongue tracing along Jeff's bottom lip.

“Goodbye, stranger,” Jensen says, right into his mouth. Jeff can feel Jensen's lips curl up and he smiles back, lifting his hand to cup the back of Jensen's neck. He squeezes once before Jensen pulls back and stands.

“Wait,” Jeff says. “I just...” He scrambles in his pocket for a pen, pulls Jensen's hand toward him and scribbles down his number.

Jensen takes his hand back, looks at it and then back at Jeff with a half-smile and raised brow.

“If you're ever anywhere near Philli,” he says, simply, with a shrug.

“I'll see ya, Jeff,” Jensen tells him, winking before he shrugs his leather back on and stalks toward the front of the bus, out of Jeff's line of sight and out of his life.

Maybe for good. Probably for good.

But maybe not.

END


End file.
